Compendium
by indraaas
Summary: A family can be a grouchy Dragon Slayer and a chipper Celestial Mage (except for when they're international spies, university students, and doctors, amongst others of course.) / CoLu Week 2018.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm doing something different this year: instead of uploading each day as its own fic it's going into a compilation. Mostly because I'm coming down with something (note to self: don't spend a day on the same sofa with three sick people, you'll get whatever they have) and am too lazy to figure out summaries.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

"Not to sound like Mest or anything, but when they say 'the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem', I don't think they're lying," Lucy says carefully. "Do I have to pull a Dr Phil here or…?"

Erik shoots her what would have amounted to a puppy's wounded eyes in a normal person; because his range of expressions are a lot like his apartment's shitty A/C in that there are three settings (metal slide in the middle of the summer, steel pole in the middle of the winter, and tropical rainforest), it's more 'wolf ate a whole lemon' but she digresses. He points to The Thing before him and says, "It was on sale. Being frugal in these trying times does not a problem make."

Her eyebrow rises a half inch. _Really?_

The corner of his mouth quirks down. _Yes, really._

"Honey," Lucy says, and she figures that's the point where he _should_ be going 'ah fuck' because _pet names_ between them is tantamount to being Full Name Dropped. There are levels to it and she's a pinch of salt away from calling him 'schnookums' and sealing his fate in the Shadow Realm.

" _Babe_ ," he stresses. "It was _lonely_."

"You bought a defective Roomba because it was _lonely_?" The disbelief in her voice is tangible, even to her. _He's_ the one who gives her hell and a half for buying a set of hugging bear salt-and-pepper shakers to this _day_ because she thought they looked cute, and he spent her _fruit money_ on a _defective Roomba_?

"It was isolated on a shelf, come on, have a heart," Erik says with a wave of his hand. The bored look on his face is downright _insulting_ when combined with the shit he says next: " _You're_ the one who bought those bear shaped-"

"Finish that sentence and we're breaking up."

"Unfortunate."

 _Don't murder your boyfriend, don't murder your boyfriend, that's_ so _illegal. Think of happy things. The beach. Macbeth drop-kicking Erik into the water. The hot sand between your toes. Erik looking like a drowned rat. Watermelon juice trickling down your chin. Erik - wait, is that a_ knife _?!_

"Schnookums," Lucy says slowly, steepling her fingers together. She hopes he hears the same Kill Bill sirens she is because it's his one and only warning that, tonight, somebody is going to Die with a capital D, as in even Death is going to do a double-take when it comes for his damned-to-purgatory soul. "Why is there a _knife_ attached to the Roomba."

Erik lights up like a goddamn hydrogen balloon set on fire. "Okay, so, it can't... _clean_ -"

" _No fucking shit._ "

"So I decided to give it a new job. You stick a knife on it and voila, our own home security system. Meet Stabby McStabberson," Erik says proudly. It's only then that Lucy takes note of how many of her books have been removed from the bookshelf and placed around the living room in areas that _very strategically_ coincide with parts of the drywall that could _possibly_ fall victim to a defective, armed Roomba. She crouches down next to the nearest book ( _How To Maintain Your Lawn_ ) and pulls it back. Unsurprisingly, there's a long, thin line that's roughly the same size as the widest part of the knife duct taped to Stabby. Lucy points to it. _Are you fucking serious._

He shrugs. _Whoops._

"You did this with the ceiling fan last year, remember?" Lucy reminds him. "And what happened next?"

"Oh, please, Laxus was _fine_. A little freaked out but fine."

"He was an inch away from going to the Halloween party as the real-life Headless Horseman, no costume required."

"He's _fine_."

"What about three months ago with the popcorn maker?"

"That was _Natsu's_ fault."

"The discount sofa?" At this, he winces and reaches for his back, as if to assure himself that all is well. _Got 'em._ It wasn't the trip to the hospital that was the highlight of that day, no, but rather having to explain to their very close friend and only medical student on rotation in the ER, Wendy, just how a spring from the sofa Erik deemed 'in need of a good home and some love' wound up lodged just above his ass-crack (the Second Asshole Incident, as it's been dubbed).

"Come _on_ ," Erik grumbles. This time, he really _does_ look like a kicked puppy. "I'm right this time."

"You love defective things - Erik Adriá Vivas, I know exactly what you're about to say, don't you fucking _dare_ \- and while that's endearing for a guy who thinks that chipped glasses deserve to be killed over brimstone and sulfur fires-"

" _They're the bane of the chemical world._ "

"...right, anyways, if you're going to keep doing this, at least put in the effort to _fix this shit_ ," Lucy says. "It could be a worthy hobby, you know. Fix broken shit. People do it all the time."

She realizes almost immediately after that that was the wrong thing to say because Erik gets _a look_ on his face that says he's weighed the pros and cons and is willing to spend the night on their ( _brand-spanking new, leather, not in need of a good home_ ) sofa just to see her squirm. He reaches out, pats her shoulder, and says in the most sickeningly sincere tone he can muster, "You're my full time project."

"I hate you," she says blandly, standing up and tapping the tip of the knife with her pointy heel. "Get rid of this. I'm going to go get plaster and paint for the walls."

"Oh, come on! I take it back, you're a part-time project! Lucy! Hey!"

* * *

 **A/N** : There's probably a tonne of typos, idgaf.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This is...tangentially related to the prompt. Sort of. It involves water. Kinda.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

In retrospect, there are two fundamental mistakes she makes that day: one, assuming that an inter-Guild trip to the beach will go just _peachy_ , and two, assuming that any outdoor excursion with Natsu and Gray involved won't wind up with some hellish monster or the other awakening from a hundred-year-old slumber to destroy a town or two.

Just their luck that it's a sixty foot tall water snake with four heads and a trunk so thick that, at a distance, it looks like a volcano.

"Not gonna help?" Lucy asks with the same casual air one would use when discussing the weather. She settles down under the shade of the beach bar's veranda and reaches for a slice of watermelon.

"Two mages with electricity based powers are out there. If they're too stupid to zap it to death, it's not my issue," Erik replies from his seat on the opposite side of the watermelon bowl. Cheap plastic sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose just enough that she can make out his eye is closed. He has enough reptilian features that her first guess, if asked to find him, would have been sunbathing on the water-worn rocks by the ocean, but she figures he's as health conscious as she is and doesn't want to risk skin cancer.

"I'm not a _snake_ , I'm human. My skin dries easily and this stupid sunscreen doesn't do shit," he grumbles. The half empty bottle next to him has _SPF 110_ printed on it in bold, curly letters. She hadn't even known sunscreen could have an SPF that high.

"You should try petroleum jelly," Lucy advises him. "Not, like, before you go in the sun or anything, but just in general."

"And here I thought you were trying to turn me into roast beef," Erik says. He pulls the sunglasses down a little lower and peers over the edge. "Why aren't you out there...nakama fighting it to the death? Run out of cheesy speeches?"

Lucy snorts and waves a hand at the battleground before her. " _Let he who summons the fuckshit deal with the fuckshit_ , as we like to say. Natsu and Gray brought it up, they can knock themselves out putting it down. Besides, I'm not the only one taking a break."

It's a testament to how many times this kind of thing happens that over half her Guild is going about their day as if nothing is going on. Laxus is studiously ignoring the fight, supervising the construction of a sandcastle by the Raijinshuu. Wendy is busy flipping through the pages of a magazine under a big beach umbrella, and Carla is sipping a Mai Tai beside her. Mest and Levy are categorizing various bits of plant life they've found near the shore (the former appears a bit too keen to take a nibble out of some of it - just so he _knows_ ), and the Strauss siblings are nearby playing Go Fish. The other Guilds - namely Sabertooth, Crime Sorciere, and Lamia Scale - seem generally confused by their casual take on the _fucking demon_ laying waste to the ocean, but they figure it out - the more destructive members (Sting, Rogue, Orga, Lyon, Sorano, Sawyer, potentially Minerva) join in on the fight, and the more laid-back ones find huddles to join to pass the time.

The fight itself is going about as well as can be expected. Natsu is attempting to Fire Dragon's Iron Fist the thing into submission, Gray and Lyon are struggling to freeze the water deep enough to keep the thing in one place, Erza has put on her Purgatory Armour (despite the fact that she has both water and lightning armour), Gajeel is attempting to crack the scales with a hard fist, Sting and Rogue have tag-teamed to lazer off its eyes, and the other four are waiting for an opening of some kind to jump in. All in all, a solid chunk of the beach has been destroyed, ancient rocks have found new homes around the shore, and they're no closer to getting rid of it than they were ten minutes ago.

Typical Monday.

"Don't you have a water-type stardress?" Erik asks as he reaches for a slice of watermelon. "You could probably go put an end to this."

"I haven't found Aquarius's key yet," Lucy responds. "Can't."

"Huh. How's that search coming?"

Odd. He's actually genuinely curious. This is the longest conversation they've had since his awkward apology several months back for the Infinity Clock incident and the radio silence afterwards. Probably the heat. Or boredom. Or both.

"I'm being _civil_." Erik wrinkles his nose and pushes up his sunglasses. "You're probably right about the heat and all, but humour me."

"Eh, it's...going okay. I've been using my resources both above and below ground to see if any keys have popped up, but so far I'm at _nada_ ," Lucy says, making a thumbs down motion before grabbing another slice of watermelon. She watches Natsu get flung off the monster's head before continuing, "It sucks but at this point I have to wait it out."

"Above ground I'm assuming means _legal_ contacts. Below ground…" Erik gasps in an exaggerated manner. "Why, Miss Heartfilia. Are you using _former Balam Alliance members_ to do some of your dirty legwork? Oh, the _scandal_. I love it."

Lucy scowls and tosses her melon rind at his head. He catches it and adjusts it so it sits like a tiara on his hairline.

"Totomaru is _perfectly agreeable_ about this. Besides, it's...fair trade. I mark some of his papers, he does a little digging." She shrugs. It works well enough for her; she can lose herself in the monotonous joy of covering pages with red ink, and he can go and get tanked in a bar for a bit.

"I'll keep an eye out, too," Erik says suddenly. At her jerk back, he rolls his eye - well, she _thinks_ he rolls his eye, it's mostly interpretation of the muscle movement of his brow. It could just be a twitch.

"Thank you?" Lucy questions more than says. Today is just getting weirder and weirder. _What's next, he's gonna offer to go on a moonlight stroll of the beach with me? Oh, fuck, he can read minds._

Erik grins sharply at that. "If you wanna go for a moonlight stroll on the beach, I'm game. The crabs come out at night. The imitation crab meat just isn't the same in sushi, you know?"

"Gross," she complains. "I'm going vegetarian, just for that."

"Glad I could help. Hey, speaking of Balam Alliance members and beaches, where's the water woman?" Erik cranes his neck to scan up and down the beach. "Can't she just-?"

"Juvia and Yukino went to explore boutiques downtown," Lucy says. "They'll probably be done by the time they get back."

Erza has requipped into Heaven's Wheel. Sorano and Minerva have joined Macbeth in his sunbathing, and Sawyer and Orga are off...somewhere.

"... _probably_ be done."

"Wanna go get some ice cream?" Erik offers, holding out his hand.

"Only if you're paying."

"That would make it a date."

"Works for me." One sticky hand clasps another. "First we wash off, though."

"I'm game."

* * *

 **A/N** : I am currently popping Fisherman's Friends mint tablets like they're candy. This, of course, has caused me to completely rewrite the day for 'Delirium'. Plus...on a House binge.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** An alternate title to this fic is 'how many ways can I slip in a crack about organic chemistry'.

This one takes place in the papalogia au, since I couldn't resist! I love me my idiot 9 Slayer household.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

"He looks stressed," Wendy whispers. "How bad is it?"

"He's doing orgo," Laxus reports. "Finding violations to Rule One."

"Oh, that's _bad_."

"Tell me about it."

"I can _hear you_ ," Erik snarls from his nook between the sofas. "Orgo's not even that hard. You're all just babies."

Wendy - little Wendy who wears frilly dresses and cries when her plants die - raises an eyebrow in a way that is _all_...he's not sure if it's him, Laxus, their father, or some unholy combination of the three, but, to some capacity, he's played a role in the development of that judgemental quirk. He'd be proud if it were any other situation.

"So you're trying to find exceptions to breaking single bonds in resonance structures?" she asks. _Single bonds? Really?_ She thinks.

Erik scowls and turns back to his notebook. Breaking single bonds might have been his goal an hour ago when he started, but now the page is littered with half-assed invites he's seen in the 'Birthday' section of the card aisle a million times. From overly formal 'You are invited to the fifteenth birthday of' to cheesy 'keep calm and party on at my fifteenth birthday', and every other crappy thing in between. His personal chicken scratch cursive melts into gothic script, chunky letters, bubbly letters, every type of formal, fancy cursive known to man, and a million more. If his plans to die a mage don't work out, he's got a future in forgery.

"Fuck off," Erik finally says, for lack of anything else. Had it been any of his other siblings he would have dropped something snarky and continued to wallow in self-pity, but the unfortunate reality is that Laxus and Wendy are, a) the smartest in the house, b) the only ones who can regularly put up with his bullshit, and c) the only ones who know him well enough to read between the lines. Anything _other_ than his customary 'fuck off' will be met with a psychoanalysis that he _really_ doesn't need. _Your therapist, on the other hand…_

"It's 'cause you wanna invite Lucy Heartfilia to your birthday party, isn't it?" It clicks with Laxus first because of course it does. Why wouldn't it?

Wendy presses a hand to her cheek in a way that is _eerily_ familiar and purrs, "Oh, he has a _crush_?"

That right there? Entirely Mirajane. He's going to have to kill her - for corrupting his baby sister and all.

"No, I _don't_ ," Erik stresses, driving his pen into the paper with enough force to break the tip. "She's just _different_ -"

"Cause you have a crush."

"Because she's an _heiress_. If I offend her she'll probably boot me to Desierto or something," Erik lies. Lucy Heartfilia gives zero fucks about her position as heiress to the Heartfilia Konzern. He's got a couple hundred thousand Jewels invested in the Guild-wide bet for when she'll leave her estate to join them (her sixteenth birthday is his prediction).

They know that, of course.

Their father chooses that moment to walk into the living room, armed with a bottle of whiskey and a bowl of caramel popcorn. "If you did something to offend the Heartfilia girl's dad, you're on your own," Acnologia says blandly, settling into the recliner and opening the legrest. He looks over at Erik's notebook and raises an eyebrow. "Breaking single bonds. You _really_ fucked up, huh. Do I need to call your mom?"

Erik's eyebrow twitches. God Serena is a lot of things: powerful mage, cunning politician, and cheerful mother hen. When it comes to his gaggle of children, however, Serena's nothing but a cloud of overreaction. If Acnologia slips up and tells him, Erik will find himself flying first-class to Alvarez. Or Jude Heartfilia will die in an unfortunate accident. Probably the latter.

" _No_ ," Erik snaps. "This wouldn't be an _issue_ if I didn't need to throw one of these stupid parties. It isn't even my real birthday, who cares?"

Acnologia taps the side of Erik's head with the bottle. "Oh, shut up," he grumbles, "Your brother _just_ finished his round of teenage existential angst, I don't need _you_ to start up right now."

 _Quit being a little bitch and just invite the girl. If you're having this much trouble_ now _I can't imagine the kind of hell you'll be going through for your wedding invites._

"If I live long enough," Erik mutters. Acnologia thwaps him again, and turns his attention to the LiVo, where the opening credits for some medical drama or the other has started up.

"Go be angsty somewhere else," the oldest slayer orders. "I can't miss today's episode."

"Why?" Erik asks as he gathers up his supplies and hops over the couch to join Laxus and Wendy. "Somebody die?"

"Even worse," Ancologia says grimly. "The attending and his fellow fucked in the last episode after a three season buildup. Today we deal with the aftermath. I can't focus with you lot in the room. Now scram."

* * *

"You should just walk up to her and tell her she's coming to yer birthday," Gajeel says sagely. "Chicks dig that controllin' shit an' all."

"Levy McGarden told you she would turn your ribs into a xylophone if you ever tried that with her," Rogue says, a slight furrow to his otherwise smooth face. "Does that not imply that they do _not_?"

Gajeel throws a bolt at his brother's head. Rogue catches it and adds it to the ever-growing pile of makeshift projectiles in the corner by their exceeds.

"You should just ask her. I don't get it, why's it so hard?" Natsu asks. Had it been anyone else, Erik would have decided they were being purposefully dense and given them a solid crack in the skull to help chip away at the thickness; however, Natsu gets a free pass because Erik has spent almost every day of the past five or six years listening to his (extremely simple) train of thought. His pink-haired brother really _does not_ understand why it's so hard for him to punch out an invite or ask her face-to-face.

 _Oh, to be so..._ that _._

"I concur," Sting says gravely. "You should seek to rec-tory-fy the situation by aqua-ring her aqua-science."

"Rectify, acquiring, acquiescence," Laxus corrects. He shoots Erik a helpless look. _Sting got to my thesaurus._

He sighs and presses the back of his head against the wall. Natsu and Sting are both _idiots_ , and he says that with the fondest intonation possible. He wishes he still had the capacity to think so bluntly, to see the world in black and white like they do. Where _they_ find no issue in asking the Heartfilia girl to come to his party because, to them, it's just an invite, Erik finds political schemes and irreparable damage to his psyche if she chooses to trample over his hesitant olive branch. He doesn't offer his friendship lightly, something his more intuitive siblings are well aware of, and for good reason. Trusting people comes at a grave price if they decide to turn their back to you one day; he's willing to do a lot in life, but this is one price he refuses to pay.

"I'll...try," Erik says. He keeps his eyes screwed firmly shut - there's no need to _look_ at their faces to gauge their reactions when he can _hear_ it loud and clear. There's an overwhelming sense of support in the air, with the occasional roll of 'he liiiiiiiikes her' ( _note to self: kill Gajeel_ ), and smugness because _of-fucking-course_.

 _Note to self two: kill Laxus and Wendy, and then kill Erza for corrupting Wendy._

* * *

Erik steps into the Guild, takes a minute to adjust to the sudden onslaught of _thoughts_ , looks over at Lucy Heartfilia, and does an about turn to leave. Laxus presses his hand into his chest with a rather bored, if not somewhat amused, expression.

 _Weaaaaaaaak_ , Laxus thinks. _Your chest is lacking gains._

"Oh, eat a dick," Erik grumbles. He makes no move to push against his older brother's firm grasp, nor does he make to pull back. There's no point seeing as Laxus is the fastest of the seven of them; Erik will be back in his grasp before he even physically registers his own movement. Laxus rolls his eyes and turns Erik around, giving him a non-too-gentle push in her direction.

"Ten seconds. 'Hey, I'm having a birthday party, be there or be square'," Laxus says. "How hard can it be?"

Wendy appears out of absolutely fuckin' _nowhere_ , scaring the shit out of them both as she clears her throat. This is the _second_ time this week alone she's been able to completely shut down her thoughts around him. He makes a mental note to figure out why later on.

"Bad idea," Wendy scolds them. "You have to be _nice_. 'Hi! I'm having a birthday party, I was hoping you could make it?'"

"Erik. Nice. Please, she'd drag him to Kardia before he could finish his sentence," Laxus scoffs.

"She'd enjoy the change of pace! It'd be _sweet_!"

"Wendy, you're so naïve it hurts."

The Poison Dragon Slayer has long since left the duo to argue on the Guild's doorstep. They provide a nice distraction for him to slip around the crowd without anybody paying too much attention. The last thing he needs is his idiot brother's (any one of them) best friends hounding him for their whereabouts or, even worse, to spar. He can already hear Gray Fullbuster gearing up to ask Laxus for Natsu, meaning he has about three minutes to talk to Lucy before Gray is sent his way - provided Laxus doesn't electrocute Gray, of course, then he has about five minutes until Erza joins the foray.

The Heartfilia heiress is seated in one of the corner booths, hidden behind a stack of books as tall as he is with tomes thicker than his own head. Every step closer invites a wave of discomfort to wash over him, each higher than the last. It's all he can do to cling to the rock that is his stubborn will and ride it out. Two minutes. He needs two minutes. He exhales sharply and focuses on her thoughts; those are always a delight to listen in on. A distraction he desperately needs.

 _Wait, how does this violate rule two? The middle carbon still has four bonds, that's a full octet! This is so confusing! Ugh!_

He nearly bites off his lower lip trying to hold in his laughter. How fucking _perfect_ is it that she's running over basic orgo? _My favourite distraction is her new past-time. Gives me an excuse to go talk to her._

"It violates rule two because moving the pi bond down there gives the first carbon five bonds," Erik says smoothly. He taps the first carbon and traces out three lines. "Three hydrogens are already attached to it. You just can't see them."

Her mouth pops open in understanding. " _Oh_! Now I see!"

"That makes sense," Levy McGarden says. Erik turns to her and says, "Gajeel was looking for you earlier, Lil' Blue. Said something about how he wanted to prove that he was the strongest member of your team and should therefore be made team leader."

A blatant fucking lie but one that's entirely within the realm of possibility when it comes to that particular dunderhead. Kills two birds with one stone: Levy scrams, and Gajeel gets his ass handed to him by a three foot tall hellion. He won't be there to witness it but he'll be there for the end result, which is really all that matters.

"I'll be back in a minute, Lu," Levy promises, snapping a thick history book shut and tucking it under her arm as she slides out of the booth and marches to the doors that lead to the basement gym.

"Is Gajeel gonna be okay?" Lucy asks. Erik shrugs and leans his hip against the table.

"He'll probably not die," he says dismissively.

"Right...er, thanks for your help with this," Lucy says, shooting him a toothy grin that sends acid straight to his chest. Or, at least, that's what it _feels_ like. It's the same sort of reflux he gets after eating too many spicy things in one sitting - it feels _weird_ but not... _bad_. He rubs his chest, masking it as itching, and coughs to lubricate his suddenly dry throat.

"No problem. You're a little young for orgo, aren't you?" ' _A little young for orgo'? What the genuine fuck happened to two minutes? You're gonna turn this into a two_ hour _long shitfest, come on. Quit stalling!_

She wrinkles her nose rather adorably and says, " _Natsu_ dared me to learn a little. He said he's smarter than me at it."

"Natsu's an idiot in orgo," Erik says. "He's good at _why_ stuff happens on a purely...mathematical level, but the whole organic bit is not his forte."

"Knew it." _That dummy! Oooh, I'm gonna give him a good yelling when I see him next time!_

"You can see him next time at my birthday party," he says in a rush. His body is a paradoxical state, both too heavy and too light in the aftermath of his invitation. It's out there, no taking it back now. She looks surprised but looks can be deceiving, he knows _this_ universal truth all too well (his biological father, the Tower guards, Brain, in that order). Magic and the mind, however…

 _Did he just...invite me to his party? Just to yell at Natsu? Oh...so he wouldn't have invited me before that-_

"I want you there," Erik says firmly, "You're...also a friend. Yelling at Natsu's just a bonus."

He physically recoils a little at her unadulterated joy. She's _happy_. Not because of the invite but because he called her his _friend_. _That_ is what surprises him; most people in the Guild go out of their way to avoid him and his acerbic tongue, his intrusive magic (not that avoiding him helps any - he can _hear them_ regardless of the distance and floors between them). He's used to his fellow Guild Mates ignoring him. He rather relishes in the isolation it provides - he's free to dick around on the second floor and nobody is there to ask him annoying questions. Nobody, and he means _nobody_ , has ever felt so... _elated_ at the prospect of befriending him.

It's fucking _weird._

"Of course!" Lucy nods so furiously her neck is two seconds away from snapping in half. "I'd love to! When and where?"

"This Saturday, my place. Three-ish," he says. "Keep it on the down-low, I don't want this entire goddamn Guild flooding my house. Dad'll _kill me_ if Gildartz finds out our address."

Lucy laughs. "Of course. What do you want for your birthday?"

"Don't have to get me anything," he says, gauging her reaction. She's more contemplative now, running through her mental file on him. She knows a _lot_ for someone who's only tangentially been associated with him for the last few years. She knows his favourite _colour_ for God's sake, not even _Laxus_ knows that.

"I'll get you something," Lucy says with the conviction of a seasoned defense lawyer. "Don't you worry."

("Are you fucking _blushing_?" Laxus will say in abject disbelief two hours later. "Yo, Wendy, he's _blushing_!"

"Or running a fever! Where's the thermometer-?")

* * *

Amongst the pile of presents, some more thoughtful than the others, Erik's favourite is the necklace with the delicate chemical structure of serotonin suspended between the silver links.

(Lucy smiles when she finds a bracelet in her bag a month later, and flushes brilliant red when the book of neurotransmitters from her ever growing pile of orgo books identifies it as dopamine.)

* * *

 **A/N:** Ten guesses as to what the show Acnologia is watching is and the first nine don't count. Bonus points if you can identify the attending and the fellow. I'll give you a hint: there was a three season buildup, but they never fucked. They kissed, though, so.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Pyramids are...involved. Kind of.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

"How do you fuck up a Henderson-Hasselbalch equation so badly?" Erik asks, sliding the midterm he's given up marking across the table. Macbeth picks up his mug of coffee and holds the midterm up, pinched between two fingers as if it's riddled with an infectious disease.

"You're not _legally_ allowed to show this to me," Macbeth says. Despite his outward disapproval, he scans the paper and scoffs. "Amateur."

"I'm also not _legally_ allowed to mark this shit in public, but…" Erik glances around the bustling cafe, shrugging delicately. It's one of those decently priced vegan, gluten-free joints that have started popping up around the university like cystic acne on a 14-year-old. The only reason he continues to frequent _this_ particular hole-in-the-wall is because it's the only one that serves half-decent spicy chicken sandwiches on top of whatever seasoned grass the vegans claim is food (and he's loathe to admit it, but their vegan coffee cake isn't...terrible).

He picks up one of the midterms his best friend is also slogging through ( _hypocrite_ ) and wrinkles his nose at the first question. "Is that supposed to be a delta?"

"Doodled those stupid Harry Potter triangles instead. For _bonus marks_ ," Macbeth confirms. "Thought it would be _cute_."

"Sometimes, I wonder why we do this," Erik sighs melodramatically. "We're fucking PhD candidates. We should be stuffed into labs like the cryptids we are."

"'cause we can't use research grant money to afford the grass they serve here."

"If I get a couple thousand bucks in grant money, skimming, like, ten dollars off the top for food isn't gonna kill my research."

"How else can you afford your disposable pipettes?" Macbeth gives him a pointed look.

"You know _damn well_ I only pipette with my mouth," Erik shoots back. An gaggle of undergrads nearby - first years, judging by their textbooks - shoot him an alarmed glance, as if the thought of mouth-pipetting is enough to send them screaming for an ambulance. 'It's so dangerous!' he can hear them think, 'so not safe for a lab! OSHA! WHMIS! Wahh, wahh, wahh!' He rolls his eyes. _Children_. As amusing as their antics can be, watching them run for the chemical showers when a drop of 0.5 M hydrochloric acid hits their pristine lab coats gets tiring after a while. Lab safety, in his opinion, is overrated. _At least with what they deal with - iodine clock reactions, anyone?_

"Uh-huh," Macbeth says. "So, how many more you got left?"

Erik checks his neat (by his standards, anyway) piles and stifles a groan of despair by stuffing a large piece of coffee cake into his mouth. Macbeth is first aid certified so if he chokes then he's in relatively good hands - provided, of course, the physics major doesn't just tell him to self-Heimlich and go back to sleep. Then he might be a little fucked. Just a little.

"I'm gonna go to the library and pull an all nighter," he grumbles, stuffing the papers into his backpack and wrapping what's left of his cake in a wad of tissue to place in one of the smaller pockets. "You got any Adderall on hand? I'm gonna need it."

"Just go get some Red Bull like the rest of us," Macbeth says, but he reaches into his messenger bag for his pill bottle anyway. Erik takes four pills and pockets them with a grin.

"Do I look like a Master's student?" he mocks. "Remember, the four stages of academia: Monster for undergrads, Red Bull for Master's, Adderall for PhDc's, and Jaegerbombs for PhD's."

"Because mixing stimulants and depressants is a _brilliant_ idea."

"Name _one_ PhD we know with more than three brain cells. I dare you."

* * *

The library is disgustingly crowded and full of snotty, contagious students who he vows to sue for battery should he catch whatever they all have. It doesn't take long to find a quartet of corrals, and even less time is spent scaring a student into vacating one of them. He doesn't even need to use _words_ at this point, just raise his eyebrow and sneer enough that his sharp teeth poke out from his lips.

He settles himself into the corral, lays out his papers, and dry swallows two Adderall ( _horrible habit, will burn your throat one day_ ) before tackling the midterms.

The blissful silence is broken after three minutes by an enraged cry of, " _Fuck_ VSPER!"

 _Couldn't agree more_ , he thinks woefully. _But it's almost 12 AM, keep it_ down.

"Unbelievable...this doesn't even _look_ like a pyramid...fucking unreal…"

VSPER _technically_ sort of falls under orgo, orgo is _technically_ his specialty, and he _technically_ has a duty (ethical, moral, whatever) to help out students struggling with this shit - he's fairly certain it's part of the contract he signed when taking on his GA position.

He's also not really in the mood to deal with acid/base reactions anymore, so he leans over the divider and peers at her setup. Her writing is neat, which tells him she wastes too much time making pretty notes for her Instagram or Pinterest or whatever. She also uses an ungodly amount of sticky tabs, and has a collection of highlighters laid out before her. He thinks back to his own undergrad days - he had one pen, a half-dead highlighter he used to dip in water to keep functional, and he used his sticky tabs to slip Macbeth notes during biology.

The organized freak of nature is admittedly rather cute, so he decides _fuck it_ , and clears his throat. "Trigonal bipyramidal. Basically two pyramids stuck together by the base."

Neat freak jerks so quickly her seat starts tilting over. Erik reaches out to stabilize her and winces as the angle presses his shoulder back and up. This is gonna set his rehab back _weeks_ …

"You scared me!" Neat freak whisper-yells once she's found stable footing. "Where did you come from?"

 _Where did you go, where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe_ , his shit brain autofills. Luckily his mostly not full of shit mouth has the grace to filter that out, and instead say, "Well, when a sperm and egg meet to form a zygote-"

 _You hate biology, what the fuck?_ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Macbeth jeers in his head.

 _What else was I supposed to say? Thin air?_

"Who are you, you weirdo?" Neat freak demands, curling over her notes as if he's going to steal them. "I know judo, so you better watch it."

"...right, you're going to judo me to death because I decided to give you a helping hand in VSPER," he deadpans. "Fine, I'll just go back to marking. Enjoy, brat."

"Wait!" She grabs him by the sleeve of his _very fucking expensive, brand fucking new shirt_ and tugs sharply. "Hi, I'm Lucy, I'm a first year undergrad. Are you a professor by any chance? Is that why you know so much?"

"I'm a PhD candidate in organic chemistry," Erik replies as he pries her fingers out of his shirt. "VSPER is easy shit. Just remember the shapes and electron clouds."

Lucy scowls and holds up her notebook so he can see the meticulously drawn out chart of all the VSPER shapes and names, and what additional lone pairs do to modify them. It's colour coded, drawn with a ruler's precision, and the writing is so small he debates whipping out his glasses just to be able to make it out.

"Charting isn't _helping_ ," she hisses rather adorably. "God, this doesn't even _look_ like a pyramid. I've been to see them, I should know."

"Your _first_ problem is that you spend way too much time making your notes look pretty. This isn't high school, scribble all you want and need. I can tell by the way you loop the tail of your 'g's' that you know how to write in cursive, so you should stick to that. Your _second_ issue is that you're making charts. Practice problems help more," Erik says. It's the same advice he gives the sobbing students he GA's for when they come to him with their failing grades. They often leave sobbing even harder, but she appears ready to give him a live demo of her judo skills. Lucy turns in her seat, opens her mouth to give him what he assumes will be the mother of all beatdowns, and it's then that he notices her faculty sweater.

" _Psychology_?" Erik reads aloud, half disgust, half disbelief colouring his tone. She's a soft science. Which explains a lot (i.e., why her notes are so... _that_ ) but so little all at once (i.e., psych majors don't require any of the basic sciences, why the fuck is she taking chemistry _willingly_ ).

"Wow, he can read," Lucy snarks. She flips the strands of hair falling from her bun over her shoulder and sniffs delicately. He imagines she was aiming for 'dramatic' or 'mysterious', but the effect is sort of ruined by the flyaways falling right back.

"Why are you taking chem if you're in psych?"

Her body language collapses all around her, elitism giving way to a sudden bout of nervousness. Her leg starts bouncing up and down, and she draws the collar of her sweater up to cover her bright red cheeks. She mumbles something then, a little too quiet for even _him_ to hear.

"What?"

"I said my friend dared me to!" Lucy snaps.

Erik blinks. "You _idiot_."

"Excuse me? I'm doing just damn fine in chemistry-"

"You'd be willing to tank your GPA and put a blemish on your transcript over a _dare_? Do you have, like, any plans for the future or?"

"Yes, I do, actually. You, on the other hand...I imagine _you_ don't."

There's a moment where the universe pauses, sort of like a record scratch in an old cartoon. Erik loses all sense of self and dignity in that brief moment where everything and nothing makes sense. Stephen Hawking could have taken him to the astral plane and given him the keys to the universe and that still would rank second to the utter disbelief (and thrill) he's experiencing.

"Excuse me?" He echos.

"Well, you're getting a PhD. As in your future title will be doctor. Except not a _medical_ doctor, but a doctor of philosophy. From what I've gleaned of you, you're the type of guy who would raise his hand when a flight attendant asks if anyone on board is a doctor, only to disappoint her when she asks you to deal with a seizing patient when you go 'whoops! I'm a PhD'. As for why you're _not_ becoming a medical doctor...no idea, but, you do know what they say." Her glossy lips curl up into a wicked, self-satisfied grin. "'Those who can, do. Those who can't, do research'. I'm the type of person who can. You...do research."

Erik knows that he will look back one day and, when asked, declare that on December 5th, 2018, at 12:17 AM, he fell in love with a woman who read him for absolute _filth_ because he called her an idiot.

 _We will analyze your apparent humiliation kink later. First, ask the firecracker out,_ the Macbeth sounding voice demands.

 _It's_ not _a humiliation kink. It's_ banter _. A banter kink. I don't have kinks, why are we discussing this? Fuck off._

"I do research 'cause who else will pay me to set things on fire in exchange for a little acknowledgement at the bottom of a paper I bullshit the night before it's due?" Erik says in what he hopes sounds like a smooth recovery, but he knows deep down is a little too cocky, even for him. Lil' miss psych seems to notice that.

"Uh-huh," Lucy says dryly, leaning back in her chair with all the confidence of a Pharoah on her throne. She's quite the little light switch, flipping back and forth between her part-time job as a bundle of nerves, and her career as a baller with no worries. She smiles prettily and asks, "I'll give you a chance, Mr PhD. Mind helping a girl out?"

"My name's _Erik_ , and I'll help you out on one condition." He raises a finger, stifling a snicker as her eyes follow the slow wag of it. It's like teasing a cat with a laser pointer.

"Fairly simple: I help you with VSPER and the evil pyramids, and you tell me all about those _actual_ pyramids you visited," Erik says. As expected, she freezes in surprise. _So hyper-confident is a facade...interesting._

"That's _it_?"

"Yup," he pops the 'p' and starts tapping the desk with his red pen. The midterms will be marked in a 4 AM, Red Bull induced haze. He's got _way_ more interesting things to focus in right now.

"Why?"

"You ever see the 'Mummy' movies? With Brendan Fraser? I've always wanted to fight an undead army and put my maggot hypothesis to the test," he replies with a delicate shrug. "I mean, the maggot hypothesis is my zombie battle plan, but…"

"Maggot hypothesis?"

 _Hook, line, and mother-fucking-sinker, thank you Wendy._

"We can make that date number two. Right now? Trigonal bipyramidal, tick tock."

* * *

 **A/N:** *confetti* ALL THE SCIENCE.

I love poking fun of soft sciences but I have much respect for psych seeing as I'm trying to minor in it (it's so easy to make fun of...I mean, sociology is definitely easier to joke about but like...psych jokes are funny, shh).

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I rewrote this prompt 'cause I got strep and felt a dire need to do something with it.

 **Disclaimer:** **I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

"Honey, I'm _home_!" Erik greets, swinging the door open with a gusto. "You _really_ need to hide your spare key in a better place. You're on the fifth floor of an apartment building, anybody would look under the potted plant. You should get a cactus or something."

"Should stick Laxus out there…" He hears her slur from somewhere down the hall. A quick glance into her bedroom reveals nothing unusual, so his next stop is the bathroom. Not because he has amazing deductive powers - which, as the head of pathology, he _so_ fucking has - but because it's the only other room there."

"Sunshine, you look like _shit_ ," he says gleefully, taking in her ragged figure inside the empty bathtub. "You caught something from Exam Room Three, didn't you? Fucking _told_ you you would."

Lucy moans and slumps further into the cool ceramic of the tub. She's wearing a baggy shirt he recognizes as stolen from his locker at the hospital, and nothing else (that he can see, anyway). Judging by that, the flush to her skin, and the wet pits, she's running a high fever. He sits on the toilet and picks up two bottles from the sink counter: one is the standard orange of pills, chock full of amoxicillin and with a label that has her name as the patient and one Dr Laxus Dreyar as the prescribing physician; the second is much larger and full of light green liquid he recognizes almost immediately as benzydamine hydrochloride.

"You have _strep throat_ ," Erik declares. " _Told_ you to let one of those stupid med students do it with an attending."

"Shhh," Lucy mumbles, lolling her head to face him and pressing a finger to her lips. She drops it a second later because of the effort involved in keeping it up. "I have _strepto...streptosaurus...aura...streptodactyle aurora borealis_."

She's _delirious._ He _should_ be concerned because her fever being high enough to cause delirium _probably_ requires a trip to the hospital, but then that means meeting Laxus because he's the prescribing and honestly he's in no mood to hang around the infectious disease department - mostly 'cause their coffee tastes shittier than the stuff they offer in pathology and he's half-convinced his department fills the machine with hydrochloric acid instead of water, so that says a _lot_.

He also owes Laxus a blood panel that he's yet to actually touch, but that's neither here nor there.

He's not a 'MD' doctor but he _is_ a (PhD) doctor who figures shit out for (MD) doctors, so this should (theoretically) be no problem.

"Wow, you got diagnosed with _dinosaur lights_?" Erik asks as he makes for her medicine cabinet. It's as organized as the exam room ones, and loaded with about as many medical supplies as well. There's a _suture kit_ in there for crying out loud. What does she need a suture kit for? Is she the personal physician for a biker gang? Erik pauses. Given _her_ personality that's actually not an implausible scenario. He's seen her apologize to a home invader for knocking him out with a baseball bat.

"No, the lights killed the dinosaurs," she argues as she weakly raises a fist and lowers it in an arc that ends on the rim of the tub. "You know, the whole...the thing...the light rock thing...it went 'boom' and the dinosaurs went 'ahhh!' and…"

"Meteor," he says, "You mean 'meteor'." He deliberates between a bottle of acetaminophen and ibuprofen. On the one hand, acetaminophen is _much_ faster acting than ibuprofen. On the _other_ hand, acetaminophen is the enemy of the liver. Who's he to sentence her to liver failure when she can willingly do that with alcohol later on? He pulls out two tablets of ibuprofen and, upon finding no cup in the bathroom, fills a cupped palm with cold water.

" _Yes_!" she shouts. Well, _croaks_ is more accurate. It reminds him of that video of the cat with the stupidly deep meow, except instead of a deep meow she sounds like she swapped vocal cords with a bullfrog. "You're _so smart_ , Erik."

He slips the pills between her dry lips ( _nose is blocked, figures_ ) and follows it up with the water. "Do me a favour and say that again but on video so I can show it to all the department heads at our next board meeting."

"Oh, shush up. Wait, department meeting? I wanna go, you all get doughnuts!" Lucy exclaims, leaning over the rim to grab him by the collar and shake him with a strength he's surprised she can muster. "Take meeeeee."

"Are you a department head?"

"No."

"Then no."

"You can sneak me in," she insists. "Just wear a big trench coat. You're super tall, nobody will notice."

"The extra set of legs or the extra five feet?" He raises an eyebrow.

"The five feet, silly."

"Let me think about it...hm...no."

Lucy pouts. Erik doesn't bother disguising his laugh as a cough. He's not seen her _pout_ since undergrad; her range of facial expressions towards him since then extends from general annoyance all the way to the extremely specific (and specially cultivated for him) 'Erik Adriá Vivas, I will break muscles you can't even pronounce after injecting you with things _I_ can't even pronounce, so help me God'. No, the illustrious Dr Lucy Heartfilia, resident extraordinaire in Infectious Disease, can't afford to slip up and do dumb things like _pout_ around the guy she's known since they were three. _That's_ just being unprofessional, especially around patients - her words, not his. If there's one thing he likes about working pathology, it's that his 'patients' are often in a liquid (or tiny solids if it's a biopsy) state so professionalism can go fuck itself.

As sad as it is to admit it, he can't actually remember the last time he _looked_ at her. Sure he sees her often, be it when passing off lab reports, or coming to bother her in the lounge, or breaking into her apartment for the expensive fruit he's too lazy to get for himself, or laying down a prank, or - the point is he _sees_ her often but he never actually _looks_ , and now that she's in a state where she likely won't remember his scrutiny, he's free to do just that.

She looks sick but that's just a given. The bags under her eyes are a little too pronounced to be from illness so he can only deduce that she's been pulling extra shifts. She's got full bangs again - something she's not sported since the fourth grade - and they do wonders for making her look younger than her age, though he imagines she intended to look a little older. It's one of the stupid tricks he's overheard senior residents tell the younger ones in order to be taken more seriously, along with 'add a little grey dye to your hair so you look older', as if they aren't going stress-grey already.

Thing is, try as hard as she might to trick the idiots in the hospital, she can never fool _him_ because where they might see a promising doctor doing all she can to be taken seriously in their world, he still sees the kid who used his zig-zag scissors to give herself zig-zag bangs in his bedroom while watching music videos on MTV.

(He got a matching set of 'zig-zag' bangs, of course, what else are best friends for?)

"Erik?" Lucy asks, poking his cheek. "Eeeeeeeerik. Erik. ErikErikErikErik. E-R-I-K. Cobra. Erik."

"You sound like a foghorn, shut up. What is it?"

"Do I shut up or answer the question?" she inquires a little too innocently. He pinches her arm lightly.

"Smartass. What do you want?"

"Stay the night and watch a movie? It's been a while since we did that," Lucy says in a moment of clarity. "Or anything, really."

 _Jinx, you owe my thoughts a soda._

"Pizza's on me and by on me I mean on your credit card," Erik replies, standing up and cracking his knees specifically because he knows she hates the sound. Like clockwork, her nose scrunches up and she shudders. He'll do his fingers and toes while they're on the couch.

"I'm _broke_ , have mercy."

"I work in fucking _pathology_ , I'm more broke than you are. You owe me for the latte I bought you in third period English."

"In the _eleventh grade_."

"Factoring in interest, I'm getting chicken wings, too."

* * *

 **A/N:** So, couple things!

1) Lucy and I are on the same round of meds, holla holla, the green liquid thing? Fucking WONDERS for your throat. You have to gargle it, not swallow.

2) Acetaminophen (aka Tylenol) isn't dangerous to your liver if you use it as directed and don't abuse it. This is just Erik being dramatique.

3) I'm on a House kick (...if you can't already tell) so the whole 'Exam Room Three' thing is a reference to the weird shit that goes down during clinic duty there.

Right, that's about it.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** so much to say, so little time! This is a shout out to an au I did for colu a while back (I deleted it, don't bother looking), it's buckynat/avengers where Bucky is Erik, Nat is Lucy, Steve is Laxus, and Fury and Mard sort of are one but not really.

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

"Is Laxus dead?"

"No, I've got the bleeding staunched!"

"Fucking Christ, take it off so he _will_ die!"

" _What?!_ "

"It's punishment for bringing me back to life in this fucking century! I _hate_ your technology! You know the last time I piloted a fucking helicopter was 1941?! What the _hell_ is this shit!"

Lucy's patience is running as thin as the artery she's got her fingers plugged into. At this point, a gentle breeze will snap _both_ in half. Laxus stares up at her with an expression that begs her to end it all, if only so he doesn't have to put up with his best friend's 'god fuck you kids and your technology' rants. The blonde assassin slips her fingers into his artery more firmly and raises an eyebrow. _I think the fuck not. I suffer, so do you._

" _Kochanie_ , can you hurry the _fuck_ up?" Lucy shouts, craning her neck so she can peek into the cockpit, where the (extremely stressed) love of her life is cussing out the steering control in every language he knows - she pinches the bridge of her nose with bloody fingers when she realizes he's doing it _alphabetically_.

"I'm _trying_!" Erik snarls as he struggles with the control panel before him. "Who the hell needs so many fucking buttons?! Oi, send back that fucking vampire, he probably knows how to do this!"

"I am a _demon_ , Mr Vivas, as you are _very well aware_ ," Mard Geer sneers, managing to look every bit as posh and judgemental as usual even as he presses a glowing hand to his broken nose. "You are on your own seeing as I have to deal with your best friend losing his weight in blood. Surely your ineptitude is not this great? Ms Heartfilia, my condolences if it happens to extend to your private lives."

Killing Mard Geer Tartaros in cold blood doesn't even crack the top ten most difficult hits she's ever had to do. Dealing with Mirajane's wrath after, however, ranks number two on her list of things that may or may not wake her up in a cold sweat at three am, so Lucy bites her tongue and focuses on keeping Laxus mostly alive until Mard is ready to work his demon-magic-thing on him. After that, she's on defensive duty; judging by the steadily increasing sound of pounding, their mark's mini-army is approaching with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. Excellent, really, seeing as she's annoyed and her most surefire 'un-annoy me' tactics involves her, a gun, and a couple hours at the range. It's been a while since she's used moving targets.

"Fuck you! Fuck this chopper! Back in _my_ day-"

"Nobody cares you geriatric fucker, get us in the air!" Laxus all but screeches. "If I don't get to a morphine drip and a blood bank in the next half-hour, I will haunt you from beyond!"

Erik flips him the bird just as the one they're in lurches forward. Mard drops to his knees beside her and presses glowing hands into Laxus's abdomen, knitting together flesh and vessels with a practiced ease. Wendy will likely do a better clean up job once they've reached headquarters, but for now the demon works in silence. Lucy rises and grabs the netting above for stability as the chopper jerks a little. Mard twitches.

" _Mr Vivas, keep this plane steady so help me…_ " Mard hisses.

"What the fuck do you want me to do?! _I don't know how to pilot this thing_!" Erik shouts. "If _your_ ineptitude means you can't heal him with a little turbulence, give _my_ sympathies to Mira! Fucker!"

Lucy sighs and counts backwards from ten before speaking. "Boys, you can whip it out and measure it when we're not in danger of dying. Right now just get along. Please."

"What she said," Laxus says. "Except I repeated it, so what I said, too."

Delirious. Just wonderful. Lucy clears the gap between their little huddle and the cockpit in three giant strides, dropping down to check the metal box affixed to the side. If this stolen chopper is anything like the dozens of identical ones she snooped through at the Straight estate, then the box will have a stash of weapons useful for picking off their idiot trails - some of whom are no doubt in the air following them, either by machine or magic. A gun is a gun either way, and a gun with a grenade launcher is even better.

"How you holding up?" she asks Erik quietly as she pulls out a large rifle and starts loading a clip.

"I deserve a raise for this," he grumbles, "I haven't piloted a chopper in sixty fuckin' years and I'm doin' it short one eye, too. I'm thinking ten G per year I'm missing, and an additional forty for the eye."

Lucy smiles affectionately. Stress is certainly a good look on him, no matter how awful that sounds. Granted, he looks good no matter _what_ to her, but there's something about the set to his jaw, the tension in his shoulders and bulging biceps, and the narrow focus to his eye that has her shivering in delight. Classical conditioning at its finest: she _should_ be awestruck and cowed, terrified even, because she's seen him don this expression for every mission they undertake; but she also remembers _years_ of quickies post-mission in her Academy days where he had the same set about him as he took her, rough and hard, so really right now she's more turned on than anything else.

Erik, mind-reading fucker that he is, has the audacity to _grin_ as this particular revelation sinks in. "Tsk, tsk, _niegrzeczna Lucyno,_ you just can't get your mind off me, can you?"

"Bite me," she laughs when he makes an exaggerated chomping motion in her direction. The banter has either set him in a good mood or distracted him long enough that old muscle memory is leading him through the motions of piloting - the ride is eerily smooth for a chopper, a testament to his famed skills. Just _perfect_ for her, too, seeing as her gun is locked and loaded and she estimates there are about fifteen people on their tail in the air. Steady ground means steady shots which means she's about to have a _blast_ playing 'aerial whack-a-mole'.

"Watch your elbow, Wendy will kill you if the recoil sets back your physio!" Erik calls after her. "Love you, have fun!"

* * *

 **A/N:** translation time, THANK YOU VAREE FOR CORRECTING THE POLISH!

 _Kochanie: my love_

 _niegrzeczna Lucyno: naughty lucyna_

 _Their corrections explained: **Seriously though (translation time) (if you aren't Polish, that is) the 'love' you used can be either a codename and, if so, was used correctly, or an endearment, in which case the proper word would be 'kochanie'. (as in 'the person I love'). Also, the 'niegrzeczna Lucyna' is talking about a 'she', in Cobra's case he'd say 'niegrzeczna Lucyno' since he's talking TO the person he's describing. (Polish is hard. Strange language.)**_

Used Polish cause in the au Lucy's originally Polish like Nat is Russian. Used Lucyna cause in the au Lucy's real name was Lucyna Hojnacki, like Nat's was Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** IT'S FINALLY OVER! WOO! Congrats on a great week, everyone!

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Fairy Tail.**

* * *

Wendy Marvell peeks around the corner and immediately whirls around, shaking her head vehemently.

"No," she says firmly. "I'm _not_ doing it."

"You drew the short stick," Chelia Blendy points out. Beside her, Romeo Conbolt nods and holds up the red-tipped stick that had unwittingly sealed her fate not ten minutes ago.

"I didn't sign a binding contract beforehand so I don't _have_ to," Wendy says, though she decides to neglect to mention that verbal contracts hold as much weight as written ones provided there are witnesses to corroborate. There are a lot of benefits to having a lawyer for a best friend, one of them being that everything he learned in law school, she did by proxy. He'll have a _riot_ when she texts him later seeing as they _both_ hate contract law.

"Honour the traditions of the staff of life!" Romeo's ghost imitation, complete with a wavering voice and wiggling fingers, serves to raise more eyebrows than their levels of fear. Wendy rolls her eyes and grabs the 'staff', throwing it in the nearby bin.

"It's a tongue depressor you dipped in iodine, not some mystic staff," Wendy snaps. "The staff of life isn't gonna keep me safe from _that room_ now is it?"

"You should be super careful, Wendy. If you don't make it out alive..." Chelia hisses, fiddling with the lapels of her white coat nervously. Wendy's both amused and slightly alarmed to see her pupils dilate - Chelia is well and truly _terrified_ of _that place_. They've all heard the same rumours, which are admittedly the kind that lead to people (read: all three of them) going _around_ the halls to avoid walking in front of _that place_ , but Chelia is a strong, stubborn woman who should absolutely not be drawn to such dramatics. Unless, of course, she's seen something _herself_ in which case Wendy will slap down her ID and book it out the back.

"I was in there once," Romeo says solemnly. Wendy gawks, eyeing him up and down. He's in _one whole piece_ as far as she can tell, but given what they deal with in there, she won't be surprised if she learns that he's missing a kidney or two.

"And?" Chelia whispers.

"It's too much...I can't…"

"Oh, for God's sake," Dr Laxus Dreyar says from where he's leaning against the nurse's station, amused. "It's _Pathology_. You're all medical students on rotation in Infectious Disease, you need to get used to running samples down here for testing. Don't let hospital gossip freak you out."

"Make nice with the lab techs, even if they all look like vampires," Dr Mirajane Strauss reminds them. "Knowing your attending, you'll be running your samples down at all sorts of odd hours and the graveyard shift techs _hate_ her because she asks for genetic testing at 3 AM and those are a _pain_ to run."

"Isn't Erik on graveyard shift?" Dr Dreyar asks. "He _likes_ her weird shit. Half the time he winds up testing for other things on top of it just so he can say he solved the case sooner."

"Erik _lives_ here, I think," Dr Strauss laughs. "Oh, but he's the exception."

Wendy listens to their conversation and creates a new mental file for 'Erik', with a link to her attending in big, bold red. If he's the exception to lab techs hating her attending then that implies he holds her in high regards, which gives _them_ a degree of closeness that transcends a regular friendship. They have competitions to solve cases and he runs extra tests for her, which means they're each others confidants. All in all, he is a very important person to her attending and Wendy is curious to find out more. A doctor is merely a detective who's allowed to play with sharp toys and scary pills, after all, and a good detective _always_ looks into new connections. Hippocrates has signed off on this; who is she to deny the father of medicine?

"Fine," Wendy says with a touch too much reluctance. She grabs the vials of blood and gives them a cursory glance, just to be sure the labels read ' _Dengue Antibodies (IgG, IgM); Dengue Virus by PCR'_ and not something ridiculous like ' _white body count plz_ ' - the _last_ person who did that still has yet to recover.

"Good luck!" Chelia cheers.

"I hope Mest has a copy of your will," Romeo says.

Wendy flips them the bird and marches off.

* * *

Pathology is one of those weird departments that _doesn't_ have glass windows or a direct entrance. Instead, it's got a solid steel entrance and requires navigating two halls to find the _actual_ doors. Wendy winds up walking into the bathroom, an office, and a janitor's closet before she locates the right door which, in retrospect, she should have found earlier accounting for the giant red "ENTER" sign above it.

She slips through the smallest crack she can make and slowly tip-toes forward. The lab is empty, eerily so, and she can't help but be reminded of all those zombie outbreak movies where the protagonist creeps through the empty lab, only to find the techs dead in a room and the vials of contagious blood missing from a glass box. Wendy's not _afraid_ of the zombie apocalypse, no sir, she's had a battle plan formulated since she was fourteen and it's only been refined since. Step one is to locate a zombie. Step two is to isolate it in a steel trap that has a camera in it for viewing purposes. Step three is to run either Operation Gummy Worm (Wendy's idea) or Operation Upchuck (Mest's idea after watching an episode of _House_ ); Gummy Worm involves throwing in maggots to eat the dead zombie flesh, and Upchuck involves allowing necrotizing fasciitis to do wreak havoc on the zombie. Step four is to figure out which is more effective and then save the rest of the world with it. Foolproof, really.

"You're in _so_ much trouble," a deep voice comes out of _abso-fuckin-lutely nowhere_ , causing Wendy to squeak and drop down behind a steel rack. Holy _shit_ there's someone here ( _there's supposed to be someone here, idiot, it's probably a tech_ ) and _he says she's in trouble_. Mest's lectures did _not_ prepare her for this - cops and their interrogation tactics? Check. Malpractice lawyers? Check. Evil aliens from the next solar system over? Check. Psycho's in abandoned pathology labs who have access to things that can make her body disappear in under an hour? _Not check_.

"Only because you couldn't keep your stinking hands to yourself," a female voice Wendy is _very familiar with_ hisses back.

 _Dr Heartfilia?_ Wendy thinks, surprised. Her attending asked her to run the blood down - why would she do that if she was coming down herself? Unless, of course, this visit was unplanned, which makes _this_ conversation one of passion and great importance. Deductive reasoning gives the mysterious male voice the title 'Erik'. Wendy gently maneuvers boxes on the rack over noiselessly, so she can catch a glimpse of the elusive head of pathology. She can see maroon hair held back by a headband, and dark skin. Any more and she risks exposing herself.

"Those pants made your ass look _great_. Besides, knowing what kind of underwear you had on underneath just...well, I couldn't help it," Erik laughs.

Wendy is totally _not_ freaking out. In the span of ten seconds she's learned that Erik and Dr Heartfilia are _in a relationship_ of the sort that allows them to get all... _touchy-touchy_ , and means she now has advantage over all of Dr Heartfilia's med students in the bet on who she's dating. All she has to do is discreetly change her bet from Dr Dreyar to Erik and she'll be sweeping in _hundreds_. That's enough for a textbook, two if she's lucky.

"Can't help it my ass, you get enough down here…" Lucy grumbles. Wendy freezes. _Get enough down here_? Implying that...they grab ass down here? Get dirty down here? _When they think it's empty, which it most definitely isn't_ _right now_? She prays to every deity she knows, begging them to save her eyes and sense of self - if they start fucking while she's hiding not two feet away, she's going to need more therapy than the hospital allots to deal with it. Maybe a Valium prescription will do. Their sexual escapades will be her very own muscle infarction.

" _Please_ , do you think Dreyar Sr will do anything to us? I'm irreplaceable," Erik declares rather smugly.

"And I am?" Lucy asks. Wendy can _hear_ the eyebrow raise.

"Eh, infectious disease isn't _that_ vital - ow!" Erik yelps. Wendy imagines her attending has pinched his shoulder or something equally painful.

"Half your techs get training doing _our_ tests," Lucy says. "Pathology and infectious disease are symbiotic entities."

"Which is why you'll be _fine_ ," Erik assures her. "Besides, Makarov is an unrepentant perv himself. If he gave us shit for necking on our downtime then he's a fuckin' hypocrite."

"I know, I just...ugh, I can't _believe_ I did that! What will my med students think?"

 _That you're human? You should see what some of the ones on rotation in immunology get up to in their lounge,_ Wendy thinks. She's walked in on one too many Eiffel Towers when ducking in for a consult, which is why she sticks to paging then down to her lounge instead.

"That you're human?" Erik echoes her thoughts. "Have you _seen_ what the immunology people get up to? We're _tame_."

Wendy's going to get along with this one _very well_ in the future.

"I wish we didn't have to keep this a secret."

"We don't _have_ to, we can tell everyone anytime you want to. Say the word, I'll go yell it in the halls."

"You _know_ why I can't just yet."

"I know. Just a few more months, yeah? Until then, I'll keep running unnecessary tests so you can come yell at odd hours."

"Is that why you keep taking the shifts I work? Oh, Erik, you _idiot_."

"You know what they say about people in love and all."

"We've known each other since we were _five_ , the honeymoon phase shouldn't exist for us."

"I can keep using it as an excuse to stick my tongue down your throat, so…"

And with _that_ , Wendy crawls back to the front doors, stands up, dusts herself off, and then very, _very_ loudly calls, "Hello? Anybody down here?"

There's a brief pause before Erik yells, "Yeah, back here!"

Wendy retraces her steps and passes her hiding rack to a bit of an open space next to a lab bench that's a little wider than the rest. Erik and Lucy are a respectable distance apart, him seated on a spinny stool, and her next to a mass spec across from him. She stifles a snort. They're being _way_ too obvious, even for a random passerby. _Nobody_ stands that far apart _that_ awkwardly unless they're doing it on the side. No _wonder_ Dean Makarov caught on.

"Wendy," Lucy greets. "Erik, meet Wendy, she's a med student on rotation in my department. Wendy, this is Dr Erik Vivas, head of pathology."

"It's nice to meet you, sir," Wendy says politely. "I hope I'm not interrupting?" _I_ so _am._

"Nah, Lucy here was about to fillet me for running a test she never asked for. Thanks for coming to my rescue, kid," Erik says. He nods his head at the vials she's holding. "Those for me?"

"Yes." Wendy hands them over and stuffs her hands into her pockets immediately. Mest once told her that her 'tell' is in her hands, so it won't do to have _those_ out. "I was wondering if you could test them for dengue fever?"

"Ah, for our patient, yeah? How's he doing?" Lucy asks. Wendy perks up at the obvious distraction - it's bait she's more than happy to latch on to.

"He's stable for now, fever is still pretty high but we've got him on fluids and he's responsive, so at this point we just need the tests to confirm dengue so we can start treatment," Wendy rattles off. Lucy gives her a warm, approving smile. "Excellent! Good diagnosis, by the way, I'm glad you made it so efficiently."

"Thank you, ma'am." Wendy bows a little, and then nods at them both. "I'll be off, then. See you around!"

"I'll page you when it's ready, kid."

"Bye, Wendy!"

She exits Pathology with a wicked smile on her face, and ignores Chelia and Romeo's alarmed chatter as the trio makes their way back to their department.

She is _so_ going to win this bet.

* * *

 **A/N:** I based the hospital off the one in House, except Pathology there does have glass walls, which always bothered me tbh. For one, I've never seen a hospital look THAT pretty, and for two...glass walls? Really? Anyways. Fun fact, Operation Gummy Worm and Operation Upchuck are actual battle plans in case of a zombie apocalypse - I devised them a few years ago when talking with friends.

Hit that mf review!

-Eien


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